In the longing of the day

You sit there, staring

Wishing you were at the bar

Or home, asleep

Every minute of the morning

Every hour of the day

You fetch the stones and burn the sticks

And wait, for night

Ma and poppa trained you well

You have no spirit

Bricks are moved by hands with eyes

Who don't see stars

Every minute of the morning

Every hour of the day

A service too imperative

You spit and sweat

Now move...

In the longing of the night

You lie there, turning

Wishing you were either one

Alive or dead

In an hour you'll be nowhere

In the morning you'll be back

To join the world in mumbling

It's tired script

Now dream...

Close your empty eyelids

As we all twirl and bow

And succumb to the dust as the absolute

As we fade into the patterns on the wall